OPUS Mag

Feb 27 Needles For Free: A Bi-Polar Manic Episode

Yeah. I’m here, and now I realize that I’ve been had, yet again, by my own damned mind. I am no prophet. I am no Messiah. Again, the delusions of grandeur have gotten the best of me. DAMNIT.

I really have to figure out what sets me off. Sure, I should take my medicine more regularly, but it’s got to be more than that. I’m a smart man. My IQ is above average. A friend at Howard (“the Mecca”) told me that she believed that only extremely smart people lose their minds this way. While those words comforted me, I just don’t get it. This is like the fifth time I’ve been admitted. I should know what to do to stay out of here, away from these nutjobs.

I guess it’s all too much. I am, indeed, very lonely. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just boring or unlikeable, but I try to be good to everybody. I know my male friends don’t want me around all the time because I don’t really get women. I’m not gay or anything, but I’m just very shy. Every time I’ve tried to get a woman (without paying), things have gone wrong and my confidence takes a blow. I’m also used to being obese. Though the surgery has turned me into a different person, I’m still a 400 pound kid in my head and no women want that.

The job thing also weighs on me. I have Howard University and Penn State on my résumés. I’m smart. All I want is a shot at doing a real job. They all say you need experience, but how do you get experience? I thought the periodicals I’ve written for that are listed on my résumé would separate me from the hundreds of others applying for jobs in this terrible economy, but that’s clearly not the case. I’m way too old to be doing any internships or anything. I thought that I had supporters in high positions that could get me in somewhere, but I obviously don’t. The “job” I have now is cool, but it’s not enough for me to abandon welfare or disability, which I really want to do. I called my editor earlier and he told me to get my life together. He’s probably also mad with me for saying the Senator was a pedophile online, but that’s true. Someone posted a picture of a boy dressed as a girl on Facebook and said he was the reason for that. I have to fight pedophilia. It’s the worst offense there is, but I digress.

I have a feeling that if my mother (I believe I’ve been referring to her as my “Life”) was here, things wouldn’t be so bad. She’d make sure I was doing something. People were willing to do her favors. I just can’t believe God took her the way He did. Why did she have to suffer that way while evil assholes seemingly live on forever? She did everything right. The whole notion that John The Baptist set forth of “He must increase and I must decrease” is what she seemed to live by. She didn’t do anything for herself. She only did for us, our church and her students at school. All she did for her own pleasure was read books. God, I miss her. She was the only one who genuinely seemed to get me and care about whether or not I was happy.

My family really is in turmoil. I also believe if my mother was around, my brother and grandmother wouldn’t be at odds. All my brother wants to be is a father to his son, something we didn’t have growing up. I also feel that he is being stubborn with Grandma, but I’ve decided to distance myself from the situation. Nobody will listen to me.

I just want a relationship with my nephew. This goes for both of my nephews. I’m also their godfather and take that seriously. I want to be in a position where I can actually do for them, but I can’t right now. I bet if I was working with my own place and normal, I’d be more welcome to be a part of their lives.

That’s all I want to do: be normal. I know that being unique is valued by some, but it’s gotten me nowhere. All my life, I’ve always wondered what it felt like to be normal. It seems a lot less stressful than whatever it is that I am/have been. I pray to God all the time that I can just live a life. I haven’t done that in almost 30 years. I haven’t lived life and I have no idea how to with things the way they are. Whenever somebody asks me how I’m doing, my only legit answer is, “Hangin’ in there.” I know I should, but I don’t lie about stuff. If I lied, I’d probably be better off, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I throw “Hangin’ in there,” out as cry for help, but people just shrug it off. When I try to tell friends about my struggles or post them online (the wilderness), everybody tells me that I’m bitching. I know some would say, see a therapist, but that doesn’t work for me. I’ve been depressed since a preteen, but never really been given any answers by professionals. I don’t believe in the mental health field. They’re all trying to give us therapy based on what they’ve read in a book somewhere. They don’t really know what this is like. Nobody’s tried to cure me of anything. They just want to suppress these feelings with medicine.

My mother always likened mental illness to demon possession. It’s the most realistic description I’ve heard. It is an out of body experience. I’ve been living with legion in me for a while now. She even got fed up one day and yelled for the evil spirit in me to come out. I cry about that sometimes.

I guess I’ll go to sleep now. The medicine must be doing its job because I’m sleepy on my own. I have mixed feelings about falling asleep. I know that the next day has the potential to be great because everyday sucks, but I also wouldn’t be mad if I just didn’t wake up. It’d save everyone a lot of grief.

Ryan K. Smith is digital content curator for Don Diva Magazine. Earning a bachelors degree from Penn State University (by way of Howard University), Ryan has pursued a career in journalism, published by Complex Magazine, Ebony Magazine, Philadelphia Weekly and The Chester Spirit Newspaper. He is also a self-published author (buy Needles For Free). He sells the most awesome tee shirts on Earth at meweforus.spreadshirt.com.

Ryan K. Smith is digital content curator for Don Diva Magazine. Earning a bachelors degree from Penn State University (by way of Howard University), Ryan has pursued a career in journalism, published by Complex Magazine, Ebony Magazine, Philadelphia Weekly and The Chester Spirit Newspaper. He is also a self-published author (buy Needles For Free). He sells the most awesome tee shirts on Earth at meweforus.spreadshirt.com.

Coeur Noir is an autofiction novel written by Al Patron. The title is Haitian Creole for black heart or heart of black, in reference to the traits of the main protagonist, Nikolas Daniel...who may or may not be based on Al Patron himself. A coming of age novel Coeur Noir will evoke emotional reactions ranging from but not limited to crying & laughter, all while detailing a path to greatness for Al Pa...pardon...Nikolas Daniel.